“What?” Cally sputtered. “I haven’t stolen anything!”

Artesia scoffed. “I never said it was you,” She said. “But you do have it.” Her eyes flashed. “You must.”

“I do not even know what you’re talking about!” Cally told her. “Why would I have… whatever you’re speaking about if I do not even know what it is?!”

Artesia stepped closer, fingers sparking. “The key of Belawain,” She said, her voice quieter and her shoulders rigid. “The key was torn from my family years ago by the blasted king of Argentum, just as—” Her lips pursed. “The key was stolen, and my kingdom barred forever. It has been decades since I have seen my childhood home, sweetling, and it is your family who is to blame!” She inhaled sharply. “Where has the queen hidden the key?” She demanded. “Where do you hide them?”

But Cally could only feel desperate defeat ring through her, even as curiosity and concern warred with each other. What did this all mean? What was Belawain? Why would her mother entrust her with this… this key? And why, perhaps most importantly, did she have absolutely no idea what was going on? “I don’t— I don’t know,” She said, injecting that desperation into her voice. “I have no idea what you’re talking about! I don’t even know what Belawain is, let alone be aware of its key!”

Artesia’s eyes widened. “You don’t know what…?” She shook her head, her mouth twisting. “You must be lying,” She said. “Just like your wretched mother.” Her teeth bared. “Isera is even worse than I’d imagined! That—” She grunted, and then, faster than Cally could understand, snapped her wrist in Cally’s direction, a beam of light shooting out and into her chest.

Cally flinched a little too late, though it served no purpose, for she couldn’t move away.

“I don’t even know why I didn’t do this before,” Artesia muttered but didn’t look happy. She pulled even closer, her streams of magic and darkness and moonlight glittering with even more power closer up. “Now, sweetling, tell me. Where is the key to the caves of Belawain?”

Energy fluttered to life in Cally, her mouth curling and warming and her mind whirring entirely against her own regard. Her tongue burned slightly, and then she was speaking, impossibly without her complete control. Magic. “I do not know,” Her mouth said, and it was the truth, and it was the same thing she’d said before. She glared at Artesia, both triumphant and furious. “I do not know what Belawain is.”

Artesia growled. “It is the kingdom your family destroyed!” She roared.

“I do not know,” Cally repeated, but this time, the glare softened, and horror blossomed through her. Because she knew rage, and she knew the truth that burst out in the throes of it and Artesia? “I really— I really—” She swallowed. “... What happened?” She asked softly, pleading. “I want to know.”

Artesia slowly turned to meet her eyes, and for the first time since she’d started questioning her, she looked more pained than cold and questioning. “Isera,” She whispered. “She truly did not tell you?”

“No,” Cally’s mouth said. “Mother told me nothing about Belawain.”

Artesia closed her eyes for a second, and then she waved her hand again. The small knot in her chest, the one Cally only now realized was forcing her to tell the truth, disappeared, leaving behind an angry hole.

Then she turned to the window, walking close to the moon she claimed to be the most powerful under the influence of, and sighed. “Belawain was my home,” She said. “A kingdom ruled by magic, for magic… and the king of Argentum destroyed that.” She laughed bitterly, her hands fisting at her side. “He marched upon my home for the source of our magic, and he killed everyone in his way. The only ones left— the only ones left of my family were my siblings and I and—” She broke off, swallowing audibly.

Cally couldn’t help the gasp, the spike of fear and hurt and betrayal. Even though she’d known her father wasn’t the best person, even though she knew he wasn’t the father she’d imagined, she’d never— she’d never— “My… My father did that?” She whispered, nearly silent, completely filled with horror.

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For a second, Artesia did not reply, and even that was enough to fill Cally with dread. And then– “No,” Artesia said, and gut-wrenching relief, the kind Cally would have never expected to attribute to anything in relation to the father she thought had betrayed her, spasmed through her. “It was Jarvis, the former king.”

“Oh.”

Artesia sneered. “Not that the current king is any better,” She said.

Cally tensed.

“It was Jarvis, however, who massacred my people,” She continued. “Who razed my lands and let the blood of the guardians of our magic run across the very floors they were sworn to protect.” She shook her head, and in the faint light, Cally saw her eyes glisten. “He was offered a deal, first,” She added, slower than before. “A deal borne of both our armies tired of conflict, for he had already sieged our caves for days before that. And when he lost, Belawain was kind enough to let him live, let the connection between our nations remain. Then that duplicitous monster attacked in the dead of night and slaughtered all who dared stand in his way.”

A small part of Cally, one she dared not voice, asked whether Artesia had become the Witch of the Night precisely because of the death of her people in the night. Whether the guilt and the pain had lasted oh-so-much longer than the king who had caused it. The king, who Cally had not even met and, at this point, was glad not to have.

But Artesia wasn’t done, and she spun around to face Cally once again, the Witch’s wild eyes meeting hers. “He destroyed the guardians to the caves of our people because he had no other way in, but he never could find the key,” She said viciously. “Small mercies, for if he had—” She shook her head. “I dare not imagine what that monster would have wished for. What he would have used the magic for.”

Cally frowned. “But—” She stuttered in confusion. “But you said the royal family stole the key,” She accused. “You said I was supposed to—” She broke off, biting on her lower lip, something hard collecting in the pit of her stomach. “... What’s going on?” She asked.

Artesia hesitated, the manic energy in her expression seeping away. “It was Alfred who stole the key,” She murmured slowly. “It was your father.” She hesitated and, in the same way as Cally, bit her lip, only for her eyes to flare and her fists to clench around her skirts. She grimaced, and her head jerked back, her eyes dark. “You do not have them,” She said, finally, only reiterating what Cally herself had been repeating since the beginning.

Before Cally could agree, could say something pointed and harsh, Artesia turned around and stomped off, leaving the door swinging shut behind her.

Cally stared, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?” She demanded to the empty room. All of that, and she’d just— what, left?

For a moment, Cally raged silently, the mix of confusion and hurt mixing into a pot of foaming rage inside her, energy dancing through her body like an electric shock. And then she screamed, the sound echoing through the room, and suddenly—

Cally stopped, her eyes widening, and slowly, so slowly, looked down.

Her wrists, they… they were unbound.

Cally stood, the magic letting her go. “Woah,” She murmured. “Did Artesia…?”

The room didn’t reply, too quiet.

Not letting another second go to waste, Cally immediately rushed to the door Artseia had just left through, pressing her palm against the door.

The door didn’t budge.

“Of course not,” She told herself, even as disappointment crawled through her. Instead of bothering to bang on it and make noise that would have Artesia coming to bind her again, Cally moved to the window instead.

Outside, the moon shone bright and whole, and, after seeing Artesia bloom with magic under it, oh-so-powerful. Cally stared at it for a second, mesmerized.

A bird cawed.

Cally jerked back, shaking her head and frowning, and then, taking care not to stare at the moon, turned to look around the grounds instead. She was in a room at least on the second floor, she realized, which honestly wasn’t as bad as her room back home. She usually escaped from higher floors, but then, she usually had a tree to jump to or bedsheets to make a rope out of.

Instead, sprawled out in front of her was a small garden, just out of reach, the trees perfectly lining the edges, with flower rings and rock formations under every other one.

There was what seemed to be a forest, too, just out of reach, starting somewhere outside what was obviously Artesia’s lands, dark where Artesia’s practically seemed to glow, smaller, where Artesia’s seemed to be big. The moonlight, too, almost fell more on these lands than the others, and, seeing all of this, Cally could honestly believe Artesia was a Witch of the Night.

But there was nothing else beyond this, no person she could yell at, no animal she could plead, nothing she could immediately use to escape, and Cally turned back to look at the room she’d been trapped in, small and not exactly uninviting, but certainly not home, and she felt tears pool.

She slid to the ground, her back to the wall, curled into herself with her head on her knees, and cried.